


For the Love of Family and Icecream

by RavenMJagonshi



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bad Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Ice Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenMJagonshi/pseuds/RavenMJagonshi
Summary: For gravityfallsfangirllove for tumblr prompts. They asked for “Mabel making ford the biggest ice cream sundae ever.” So Ford tries and fails to flirt with a girl and Mabel decides to make him a symathy sundae.





	For the Love of Family and Icecream

What was currently happening in the Mystery Shack kitchen should not be, in fact, happening. Or, rather, really had no reason to be happening other than the cause for much of the madness in their lives – his beautiful and strange great niece.

Mable had her hair tied back into a bun, but he doubted that it made much of a difference. She was covered in splotches of multi-colored melting ice-cream, a partly peeled banana was stuck to her back with what appeared to be caramel, chocolate smeared on her cheek and a dollop of whipped cream on her nose. The entire kitchen looked as though it had been the location of a confectionary massacre.

His niece was trying to kill him with sugar. He was sure of it now. She was so embarrassed for him and his pathetic sixty-year-old awkwardness that she had made him a dessert that was going to kill him.

It had all started when Ford, without thinking or really paying attention to what had been asked of him, had mentioned that he had not had been on a date. Ever. Well, not with a girl, at least. Pretend dates with his brother where then ended up working on the Stan O’War, or bumbling around of the beach, or harassing the boardwalk game attendants didn’t count.

Mabel had been kind – and persistent despite his constant assurances that it was fine – enough to try helping her Grunkle Ford get a date. No matter the warnings that he was too old (That just means you’re a Silver Fox), too out of the game, (That’s why you have me!), too awkward (Everyone in town thinks you’re the coolest, stop trying to weasel out of this!), nothing would change her mind.

After a continuous stream of complaints that is wasn't going to work, and that no one would talk to him, she had made him a deal; try his best and if it backfired, then she would make it up to him somehow. Her earnestness was infectious and he could deny her nothing.  

So, Stanford, at sixty-two years old had stood petrified near a fake potted plant in the mall, too afraid to approach the older woman Mable had pointed out to him. Everything was a blur and before he had realized it, he was standing in front of the woman who was looking at him expectantly. He opened his mouth and carefully delivered the line Mable had fed him.

He had felt a wave of relief roll over his body. He had been able to successfully ask the question, however, the confused look on the woman’s face indicated that he had somehow screwed it up. Upon reflection, what came out of his mouth was not English, or any human language, which might have explained why she had hit him with her purse and stormed off. It wasn’t even that heavy of a purse, but it still stung with the same intensity as the sticky punch had at prom.

The ride home was silent; even Stan had reigned in his usual brotherly ribbing, giving Ford occasional sympathetic looks from the driver’s seat of the StanleyMobile. Dipper had given him a hug when they got back, saying that he was really bad at talking to girls too. Ford had smiled, but had decided to hide in his room for a while.    

So, Mabel’s plan hadn’t worked, and despite his reassurances that she really didn’t have to, she had made good on her promise to make him feel better. Ford had been pulled from his room by Dipper and Stan – literally pulled by the arms as each one took hold of his hands – and brought into the kitchen.

Which is where he now stood in awe at the madness before him.

The kitchen counter was filled with half empty fudge, caramel, and butterscotch toping jars, the peels of six bananas, two completely empty tubs of tri-flavored ice-cream, an empty spray can of whipped cream and a bag of fresh cherries.

Stan had dug through the pantry for almost ten minutes to dig out the two-gallon bowl that he had acquired during his thirty year stay in the shack. Porcelain and nearly sixteen inches in diameter – and half an inch thick – the bowl was filled to the brim, and then carefully piled higher than the brim so that the mound of whipped cream spiraled up and up until Mable had to stand on a chair to place the cherries on.

From the colors he could see – and he assumed color attributed to flavor – strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, vanilla swirl something, coffee (at least he assumed the tan was coffee), and green usually meant mint, right? 

Diabetes. If he didn’t go into a sugar coma or have a heart attack, he was going to have diabetes.

Mable was using a spoon to rearrange the toppings to look more aesthetic, forming her fingers into a square to find the best-looking angle. The heat of the shack was quickly turning her masterpiece into soup. 

“Should I tell her I’m lactose intolerant?” He really hoped there was some way out of this. He liked ice-cream as much as the next guy – well, maybe not the _next guy_ , as he had seen Stan eat his way through a tub of ice-cream while watching that sappy black and white drama – but he liked it well enough. This was simply insane.

Stan elbowed his side with a chuckle “Yer not!”

Ford sighed, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose, his glasses sliding up to rest on his forehead. He could practically feel the ice-cream headache forming already. 

“She doesn’t know that though. I can’t eat all that!” he said, gesturing wildly in the direction of the monster sundae.

Stan raised an eyebrow dismissively. “Yer not, that would throw anyone into cardiac arrest.” Stan held up four large spoons. “You just get the first bite.”

Dipper reached out and grabbed two spoons out of Stan’s hand, quickly walking over to Mable and giving one to her. She grinned wide when she saw Ford, and beckoned him forwards. “Grunkle Ford! It’s about time! Here is your, ‘I’m sorry you got so nervous you spoke alien languages’ sundae.”

“Thank you, Mable. Um…may I ask why it’s so…massive?”

“Because you’re a massive dork and need a massive pick-me-up to stop pouting and try again!”

He couldn’t argue with that.

It wasn’t too bad, and with the twins and his brother helping, it only took them a half hour to finish until it melted into soup. Stan poured the remainder into four large mugs and placed silly straws in each. Waddles got to fight over the bowl with Gompers.

His stomach hurt, and he felt fatter than he ever felt before in his life, but sitting on the back porch sofa, his niece sitting in his lap and cuddled up to his chest, his nephew pressed against his side, and his brother’s arm around his shoulders, he thought he might be able to get use to this.         


End file.
